


Hephaestus

by TheLastWhiteRose



Series: Greek Gods [3]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Homosexual Thoughts, Love Triangles, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 08:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12790551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastWhiteRose/pseuds/TheLastWhiteRose
Summary: In the Greek myths, Hephaestus had been Aphrodite’s husband. The blacksmith, the fire worker, the creator, he was nothing much to look at, but the product of his labor was ingenious. When Aphrodite took Ares as her lover, the myths mentioned Hephaestus’ jealousy, of his endless envy of Ares. They never mentioned his equally torrential lust for him. For Ares was the man he’d never be, and that alone stoked the fires of desire in the pit of Hephaestus’ stomach.





	Hephaestus

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is pretty shitty, and also pretty self indulgent because Jumin/Zen is underappreciated. Still, if you like it, make sure to give kudos! As always, thanks for reading.

(MC) was late. To be fair, she had never been the most punctual person, opting instead to arrive what she considered “fashionably” late. However, fashionably late had never been more than ten to fifteen minutes, not the three hours he’d been made to suffer through. 

Jumin wasn’t a daft man. He’d observed what had been transpiring between (MC) and Zen, perhaps even before the two of them knew of their feelings for one another. He’d seen the flirtatious, yet easily misconstrued text messages between them, the sly glances during intermissions at parties. The faint aroma of Zen’s cologne staining (MC)’s skin didn’t go unnoticed by Jumin’s watchful gaze, nor did the violent purple marks littered across her extremities. He knew, and he documented the encounters, and worked out (MC)’s schedule from there. 

It was masochistic, Jumin knew, to still pine after the woman who left him raw and aching, simply at the thought of her. It was masochistic to think about her and Zen on nights when he was unable to sleep, twisting and turning painfully as he thought of Zen kissing his wife, touching her, fondling her. It was masochistic, to witness their endless flirting at parties, the way he effortlessly flitted through the crowd like a butterfly flapping its wings, causing a shockwave to course through his veins. It was especially masochistic, he knew, to want those same flirty touches on his own world worn skin. 

He wasn’t gay. Far from it, in fact. He’d enjoyed the company of numerous women before (MC), and he’d been thoroughly satisfied with their sordid trysts. Jumin was simply curious, that’s all. He was an explorative spirit at heart, and was simply wondering what it would be like to have Zen’s muscled body against his, his soft grunts in his ears. The difference between his lips and (MC)’s would be noted, as well as the feeling of him being pummeled from the back. 

“-ir? Sir?” The Starbucks barista snapped her manicured nails at him, before casting a harried glance at the increasing amount of irritated customers behind him. “Sir, you have to order or I have to ask you to leave.” 

The statement was followed by several impatient remarks, loud enough for Jumin to finally snap out of the trance thoughts of Zen put him in. He cleared his throat, red blooming into his face as he stumbled on his coffee order. He moved quickly and efficiently, perhaps to compensate for the blank he suffered previously. When his coffee order came, he grabbed it, his hands wrapping around the hot drink as if it were a hand. 

Finally, finally! Jumin caught the sight of a less than composed (MC). Her hair was messed, lips kiss swollen, and fidgeting as she struggled to conceal the purple love marks Zen left on her. Regardless, this left nary a mark on her elegant visage. Jumin couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be branded with Zen’s rough bite marks, before opening his arms in a hug to greet (MC). 

She reciprocated well enough, squeezing him back. See, Jumin thought silently, basking in her warm embrace. This is why you can’t be gay, you enjoy (MC)’s touches way too much. When they parted, he took (MC)’s soft hand in his calloused, leading her to her car. 

In the Greek myths, Hephaestus had been Aphrodite’s husband. The blacksmith, the fire worker, the creator, he was nothing much to look at, but the product of his labor was ingenious. When Aphrodite took Ares as her lover, the myths mentioned Hephaestus’ jealousy, of his endless envy of Ares. They never mentioned his equally torrential lust for him. For Ares was the man he’d never be, and that alone stoked the fires of desire in the pit of Hephaestus’ stomach. 

Truth be told, Hephaestus didn’t want to be with Aphrodite. He wanted to be her, the object of Ares’ affection. And for that, he was cursed to forever live his life in wretched damnation, unable to speak of the injustice playing out before him.


End file.
